Burn
by SSGA
Summary: They celebrate a victory at Shin-Ra, and as the elite members and the hero, the three first classes should attend too. That's the aftermath when a single action leads to a complicated misunderstanding.


Disclaimer: I don't own.

Summary: They celebrate a victory at Shin-Ra, and as the elite members and the hero, the three first classes should attend too. That's the aftermath when a single action leads to a complicated misunderstanding.

**Warning**: Rated **M** for dark themes, masochistic and sadistic ideas, alcohol, sex, should I say more?

Author note: **Revised version.** I don't know what this is called. Call it whatever you want, PWP if you insist. I don't care to argue, really. I live my life; whenever I stumble against something that can be of any inspiration to me, I most definitely would use it. I got the idea and here it is how it looks like in words. I might have listened to Eminem's "Love the way you lie" too much… The lyrics at the end are for the song, too. But anyway, that's how it turns out when I act upon spontaneity.

I hope you enjoy, though.

By the way, anything that might be ideologically offensive does not necessarily mean I think or feel the same as the character does. I hope no one takes offence because I didn't mean for it.

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_Half empty bottles, glasses stained with lipstick, ashtrays and cigarette butts were scattered across the room; here and there, on the nightstand, beside the king sized bed._

_It wasn't the most expensive hotel, but somewhere he could spend some nights away from Shin-Ra and yet at the same time at Midgar._

_He had been furious, seething with rage when he first set foot in the room. It wasn't just one object that fuelled his anger, there were quite a few. His hands had been trembling so much that he couldn't light the cigarettes; his breathes too fast that he coughed every time._

_Could it have been any more outrageous? Any more provoking?_

_It had been his party, the celebration of his victory; it had been his day and yet…_

_He had been pushed in the shadows again, mocked, belittled by the president's words and the arrival of his poster boy. In a blink of an eye, he was shoved out of the spotlight, bereft of the title he was about to receive, stopped just a step away from achieving his goal._

_It wasn't the sole reason._

_It was what _he_ had done._

He _could have rejected it. _He_ could have rejected the offer and yet he didn't. And he smiled, and smiled, and smiled… Without looking at him._

_Ignoring him._

_Igniting him._

Betraying_ him._

_He didn't smile at the cameras. He didn't try to act. He didn't try to seem happy._

_He had stood there, rooted to his place… The roars of laughter, the nonstop chatter, the music faded in the background, the sea of elegant suits and dresses blurring out of focus as he just watched him from far._

_He was burning with rage._

_Betrayed._

_If it was the reaction they wanted to get, then they did, and they had the rest of the party to celebrate. He hadn't cared about it. He hadn't wanted any of it._

_He had just left, not bothering to look back. Not bothering to respond when they had called for him, not bothering if they sent after him. He had paid for the room more than they had asked for to be just left in peace, and unnoticed. He hadn't answered any calls that weren't necessary._

_Drinking. Smoking. Sparring._

_Pacing up and down the room._

_Seeing that he couldn't keep the anger at bay by his _normal_ means, he chose to vent it _differently_._

_His charm, his looks, his fame, and most importantly his money were enough to get him people who'd die to sleep one night with him._

It just seemed that he had gone too far. Or maybe not.

They were even now, weren't they?

An eye for an eye.

He tried to free his hands.

_At night, he would lie there on the bed, hair disheveled, the sheets ruffled around his naked body as he sipped slowly at his drink, watching with hooded eyes as they fought with each other over his affection. They tore at each other's clothes, snatch at their hair until he was bored with their game. And then they would come, bathing him in their heat, covering every inch of his body with kisses, caresses, begging him to fuck them._

_They were whores and they deserved to be treated as such._

_There was no tenderness. There was no emotion. There was no need. _

_It was but a game. A means. Nothing more._

_He had thought it would save him. That it would make him forget. That it would abate his anger._

_It didn't. And he could feel how miserably they failed at pleasing him._

_In the morning, he would wake up tangled in hair, bodies and sheets. He would go back to the Shin-Ra building, lock himself in the office, then in training room and that was all._

_He had tried harder, had nearly drowned himself in work or sex only to realize that the flames rose higher and higher with every kiss, with every touch. _

_It had felt wrong. Every bit, every part, every action had been wrong. Nothing had felt the way it should._

_The touches weren't right. The sensation wasn't right. The kisses weren't right._

_It wasn't enough. It wasn't good enough._

_They weren't right. _

_He had thrown them out in rage, not able to accept his hopelessness with the situation he was caught in._

_He had been disgusted, so sick he had wanted to throw up. _

_He didn't touched anything ever since; not even himself._

_And now…_

He wriggled, trying to free his hands from the too tight tie of the rope.

His body was responding to the wet kisses between his thighs, to the hands that held his hips, scorching his already heated skin.

A sheen of sweat was covering his body, his damp auburn locks were stuck to his forehead.

The sudden heat that welcomed him made him grown deep in his throat.

She was kneeling at his feet, caressing him, kissing him, licking him. She was paid for this. She was trying to make him relax, to make him enjoy this, but…

Those eyes…

Azure eyes were ablaze, flames of fury dancing in their depth as they transfixed that of the other occupant of the room.

He hadn't thought that _he_ would do such thing.

He hadn't seen it coming.

And he was paying for a crime he didn't commit.

He was paying for the betrayer's betrayal.

It felt so wrong, and at the same time so right. His body moved on its own accord, rebelling against his every order to remain under control, pushing against the warm mouth that covered him. The feelings escalating, the pressure building, the temperature rising…

He knew it was those eyes.

He knew it was the presence.

He couldn't do it. He had lost it already.

His mask came up, the immaculate cold metal. His eyes iced over as he watched, the rage intensifying with each passing second in their silent battle of wills.

How could _he_ do this to him?

His lower lip was numb; he could already taste blood in his mouth, and yet he still bit, suppressing any sound that threatened to pass.

He would not give in.

The ropes were cutting into his skin, scraping over his already bruised wrists as he struggled, trying to break free from…

Humiliation?

Torture?

The punishment that was unjust?

No… He didn't want it to feel right when it was wrong.

He didn't want those eyes. When he was suffering…

Only…

Because of _him_.

The pressure that had been building inside him exploded, he banged his head against the wall…

It was no heaven. It was no bliss.

He was plummeting straight into hell, flames licking at his skin.

Mocking, tormenting, scorching.

And…

It hurt.

More than anything.

His breaths echoed in his head, every little sound too loud for his liking. Looking away from the ceiling, he lowered his head, leveling his gaze at _him_.

His chest was heaving, his heart hammering in his chest, the hot breaths scorching his slightly parted lips.

Blood was dripping down his chin, sweat rolled down his heated exposed skin.

There was a long gash there, deep inside him, bleeding, hurting, burning so badly.

There was the jagged line of a crack on his mask.

_His_ eyes were watching him throughout the whole thing, unchanging, unfeeling, cold.

He was burning, aching, hurting.

…_Just gonna…_

Burning.

Hurting.

Aching.

For _his_ burning touch.

How couldn't _he_ see this?

An invisible tear rolled down his cheek.

…_Just gonna stand there and watch me burn?_

He would never admit it.

_That's alright because I like the way it hurts…_

Never again.

It had cost him greatly, dearly.

It had scarred him.

Never again.

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_Anonymous reviews:_

_Hanlo, thanks for reading and reviewing and for the compliments. I reread the whole thing, and noticed the missing parts. I left some of them so that it could be interpreted differently. However, this is the revised version, and I hope that this time, it's clearer and more understandable._

_Anonymous, thanks for the enthusiasm :) I'm glad that you enjoy the complicated and sometimes contradicting emotions that Genesis has._


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